floating in a tin can
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and as you enter it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

- margaret atwood

June 2017

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Posts Tagged: '1969.08'

Dec. 12th, 2016


[info]jewsinspace
[info]spaceodyssey

[info]jewsinspace
[info]spaceodyssey

COULD I BE YOUR RECKLESS FRIEND


[info]jewsinspace
[info]spaceodyssey
August, 1969
It’s been about three months since Michael Ginsberg dove off the top of his tenement building. A lot of things about that night come up blurry when he’s asked to think about them during therapy; they happened too fast and too close, like the pavement going by out a taxi window. Some things, though, are crystal clear. Suspended. The view from the roof; the rush of adrenaline; the beating of the wind; the weightlessness and relief of falling; the overwhelming, unforgiving solidity of that stupid car. The doctors said it was landing on the car that probably saved his life. It hadn’t been there when he’d looked down. What a fucking joke.

i can't find the light in my heart )